


Drag Me To The Grave

by Never_Give_In



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days
Genre: AU, Angst, Blood and Injury, Claustrophobia, Death, Feels, Gen, One Shot, Resurrection, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 06:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14326626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Never_Give_In/pseuds/Never_Give_In
Summary: "Now death has come to claim your beautiful remains"





	Drag Me To The Grave

He wakes up and he’s suffocating. His whole body aches and he knows he’s bloody and bruised even without opening his eyes. His lungs try to breathe in gulps of air but they hurt just as bad as the rest of him, raw and burned. Now he opens his eyes and finds his nose just an inch or three away from a lavish looking cushion, barely enough room to lift his hands. His eyebrows furrow, and his eyes flicker to look around him, squinting in the darkness to see vague shadows that make up more of the cream colored fabric.

He tries to stretch and his feet go an inch before hitting something hard though he can’t see what it is. His hands reach up and feel above him, then behind his head. He’s trapped.

“Batman?”

His voice is little more than a whimper, pitiful and croaky like he hasn’t said anything in a while. The name deafens him in the small space, a blisteringly loud noise against his curiously ringing ears. His brain starts screaming at him, telling him to stop, but he doesn’t stop.

“Bruce?”

His voice is louder now, nearly a scream as he repeats it, both iterations of the man’s name. He doesn’t know who he’s calling for, the significance lost despite the familiarity on his lips. Despite the vague feeling of safety he feels calling for the man.

“Bruce? _Bruce?!_ ”

He’s crying now, long, gut-wrenching sobs that create fat salty tears that roll down his cheeks. They burn the bruises ladden on his face but he doesn’t care, crying and screaming until his lungs scream for air. He stops.

“Need… need to calm down,” He breathes, long and slow. “Gotta… gotta find a way out.”

His brain falls on instinct, searching the suit he’s wearing for something, anything, before his bloody hands land on the belt he’s wearing. It’s unlatched quickly from his waist and he fumbles with it until he positions the buckle the way he needs to.

“Okay… Only… only get one shot at this.”

A deep breath fills his damaged lungs then he starts digging. The buckle tears through the decently layered fabric and scratches horridly along the dark wood behind it. One hand holds the buckle and digs with it while the other hand claws against the grain of wood, dripping blood from newly opened cuts.

It doesn’t take long before dirt starts to fall in and he takes one last breath before pushing his body out, his hair suddenly soaked with dirt as his hands fight to dig against the dark. His fingers claw in desperation and he closes his eyes to keep dirt from falling in them, fighting against the hurt echoing in his bones. He’s tired, and he has the urge to breathe, but keeps going, dragging his body along despite the fatigue threatening to slow him down.

The dirt suddenly liquefies into mud, sticking to his hair and skin but cool against the bruises on his cheeks as he reaches closer to the surface. He wants to go faster, wants to reach the surface, and it’s so close that he can hear a sudden crack of thunder that rings in his ears.

That’s when his lungs start screaming for air and he is desperately trying to reach the surface but his limbs seem to be working against him. He’s so tired that his brain is shutting down and on reflex he opens his mouth to breathe but instead chokes on the sour mud that surrounds him. He hacks it up in a cough but it’s just replaced by more. He has no more air and yet he’s still pushing, still _yearning_ , for the outside world that is just beyond his reach.

His throat is soaked in the mud and his brain is completely muddled, lost in the fog that is overtaking it as his body shuts down, his arms and legs going limp even as he continues to wrestle some semblance of consciousness and movement.

He’s lost in a sea of loose dirt and runny mud that seeping into his lungs as his throat chokes against the feeling. He fights the urge to vomit, knowing there’s no room to and it’ll just fall down into his mouth again. Unconsciously his hand grasps at the mud around him, feeling only loose brown material, and he knows his effort is fruitless.

He’s out of air and his body is shutting itself down as he suffocates on brown earth in the absence of oxygen. He still doesn’t open his eyes, even when he hears yet another clap of thunder, this one closer and louder than before. His ears are still ringing at the sound and his brain can only choke out one agonizing thought: _Dad…_

Then his lungs give out and his pulse slows, his fingers twitching as he draws his last breath of mud before his whole body goes limp in the mud, frozen, stuck just mere inches from freedom as the wet ground above his head remains eternally unbroken, drenched in the torrential rain.

\---

_Here lies Jason Todd_

_Good soldier_

_Good son_

~~_Never forgotten_ ~~


End file.
